Your blogmistress apologizes for her absence. Your blogmistress has been busy and distracted and focused on other things, but is quite well and good. Your blogmistress has been pretty happy and peaceful these past few weeks, and generally enjoying the holiday season and all that comes with it.

Your blogmistress has now had three dates with the Same Person. Your blogmistress is going to see that Same Person again. So your blogmistress will just go ahead and try to catch up on where that stands, because it's kind of fun and nice. Here, world, watch little fishy Ellie swim in her fishbowl. Splish splash.

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Date two. Plans to go to a Lakers game fall through, but I've got a Plan B, if he's up for it. Just the night before, I've received an invitation for a birthday celebration - a last minute party for Kenne, thrown by his roommate Kristin and his boyfriend Alfie. I had regretfully declined, giving them hell for not putting out invites sooner. But when we're unable to get tickets for the game, I float the suggestion to him tentatively.

You can absolutely say no, and I would completely understand. It's only our second date, and I don't want to throw you into an uncomfortable situation with a bunch of people you don't know...
He tells me not to be silly, that he'd love to go. I inwardly rejoice. It's Kenne's 45th, and I'd be really disappointed to miss it. Plus, I kind of want to show my date off. I know he'll have my friends gawking and giggling.

Dinner first. Cozy restaurant, delicious food, great conversation, lots of laughs, a little too much wine. We get to the party later than I'd wanted, but once there, we melt right in.

There are about twelve of us clustered around a large table on a patio at a bar in Silverlake. We're drunk and loud and having a fantastic time. My date, myself, and Kristin are the only straights; everyone else is taking turns "confessing" to early sexual experiences with girls. I glance to my left to see how he's taking everything in. He's stopped drinking in order to sober up for the drive home, but he seems completely comfortable, with genuine laughter for Victor's threesome-in-the-nineties anecdote. I'm suddenly conscious of how close we're sitting on the bench. We've had next to no physical contact so far, though I've been keenly aware of his body since I met him. The slight pressure of his thigh against mine is distracting, and I slowly shift my weight away from him. I've had a lot to drink and I don't really trust myself to not be overly flirtatious.

We're taking turns toasting Kenne when my phone lights up with a text from the birthday boy himself. Me and Victor are dying over your date. Those eyes, that smile...damn! I swallow my grin and Kenne winks at me from across the table, while kicking me underneath it.

Later, he drives me home. I invite him upstairs to meet and help me walk Chaucer; he accepts. Chaucer, predictably enough, loves him, and presents each of his toys, one after another, to the guest sitting on my couch. He relaxes into the sofa, his arm over the back of it, and angles his body towards me. He watches me change out of heels into more comfortable shoes. "You're so tiny," he says, and his voice is softer and lower than it's been all night. I'm tipsy and playful. I hold up my owl suit to show him. "Oh god. You are so putting that on right now," he says. I don't need to be told twice. I allow him to snap a pic before changing back out of it, aware that I'm essentially undressing before him. I've got a full layer of clothes on underneath the furry costume, but the moment still feels faintly erotic.

Downstairs, we take Chaucer around the block. As we're rounding the corner, I catch my breath: A. is exiting our building with his own dog. He's heading in the other direction, though, and doesn't see us. It's just a few days before he moves out.

I walk him back to his car. A quick peck, a hug, and a little while later, a text to say he's home safe. I fall asleep and dream, inexplicably, of snow falling soundlessly in the woods.